Suck It Up
by Thelittlemonster17
Summary: Alfred thought that he was going to be the class nerd for the rest of eternity. He's bullied and everyone seems to hate him for no reason. Then an exchange student from the UK comes along. Will Arthur try to befriend him, or will he believe the lies that everyone tells him? Will he save Alfred from the cruel bullies and himself or let him rot like the rest of the school? HS-AU USUK


He _really_ wished he didn't have to go to school that day.

So far he had been bombarded with paper balls, tripped in the hallways and desk aisles, locked in the dirty janitor's closet, dunked in the high school's most repulsive toilet, was slammed into a locker by an oversized jock, and was laughed at (and kicked) for having a 'KICK ME' sign taped to his back.

And it wasn't even lunch.

But this type of treatment was normal: it was his everyday life, his slow, torturous, and painful everyday life that haunted him every hour of every day. He briefly wondered if he was doomed to be the class nerd for the rest of eternity.

He, because his existence wasn't good enough to be dubbed with a label, wished that he could swap places with someone, _anyone_, so he could get out of the vicious cycle of laughter, cruel jokes, and just plain bullying. Maybe then, He wouldn't feel like a worthless piece of trash that was kicked to the side when someone bumped into it on the street.

Just as he felt like in that exact moment, sitting in the last stall of the littered boys bathroom with his feet propped up against the toilet seat and his knees pulled flush against his chest attempting to keep tears from flowing from his spectacle-covered eyes. His blonde hair still dripped with toilet water earlier that morning and tiny drops of water flopped onto his hazel-colored T-shirt. He sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

It didn't work.

A short moment later, He was crying almost hysterically. Tears streamed down his somewhat chubby face like miniature rivers. He was pretty sure he was missing lunch- but that didn't matter, he was fat enough anyway.

He swiftly raised a hand to remove his wire-framed glasses. He stared at them for a moment, tears slowing ever so slightly. His eyebrows furrowed.

"This is your fault!" He shouted at the innocent spectacles in his fist. "It's your fault I go through this crap everyday!" Suddenly he sighed and rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

"I'm going crazy. Blaming glasses for all my problems, what the hell is wrong with me?" His eyes slid close and he released another sigh as the bell rang outside. He stood and rubbed his eyes, trying to hide the evidence that he had been crying even though it made it worse, and picked up his discarded backpack. He scurried off to his next class without even glancing at himself in the mirror.

"Mr. Jones!" The English teacher snapped from her post in front of the chalkboard. "Pay attention to the lesson and stop staring out the window!" He swung his head to face the front of the class before nodding his head.

"Yes, ma'am," He replied. The teacher nodded in a curt, yet somehow rude, manner before spinning on the tips of her high heels to continue writing on the board.

A paper ball hit the back of his head followed by a few snickers. He cringed and sunk into his seat, preparing himself for the string of insults that were sure to follow as they always did.

"Hey, fatass," A boy hissed from his left. "Did you gain a few pounds from first period? What do you do, eat in every class?" There were giggles from behind him and He flinched.

"I bet he has a whole stash of food in his bag." Another voice spoke up. There were chuckles now. Before anyone else could say anything, the wooden door to the classroom swung open and hit the wall with a loud thud. The class turned their attention to a scrawny boy standing in the doorway.

"Ms. D-Drespatch?" He spoke hesitantly, as if the woman was going to turn into a dragon and eat him alive, which really would not have been that surprising to the rest of the school. There was a sigh.

"What is it," She snapped, grey eyes boring holes into his face.

"There's a n-new kid that n-needs an e-escort-"

"Stop your stuttering boy!" Ms. Drespatch yelled with too much intensity, causing the class and the poor boy in the doorway to jump in surprise. The woman sighed in annoyance before turning to her silent students. Her piercing grey eyes scanned the room before coming to a stop on He.

"Alfred," She stated as she waved a hand to gesture him forward. "Escort the new kid for the next few days until he understands his schedule. You will leave five minutes early from each class to pick him up and drop him off, am I clear?" Alfred nodded as jealous groans filled the English room at the prospect of him leaving early.

"Yes, ma'am," He replied as he hurriedly grabbed his books from his desk and scurried to the front of the classroom. The thin boy nodded at him and gestured for the bullied teenager to follow him to the new kid.

Arthur Kirkland huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. His right knee bounced ceaselessly up and down against the waxed hardwood floor of the guidance area. He was sitting on a wooden bench with a tall counter to his right where a woman with glasses was busily typing away at a computer screen while glancing at him every once and a while to cast him a disapproving look for an unknown reason.

Well fuck her then.

Arthur lifted his fingers to tap them against the side of his arm. He was growing restless from sitting in the same spot for over twenty minutes. He sighed, finally relaxing and sliding his emerald green eyes shut. He thought about his situation.

He was okay with moving, as long as it was to another place within Europe. But moving halfway across the bloody _world_ he was most defiantly not okay with, thank you very much. It was too far from home, and not to mention too… American.

Already he yearned for the wet and muddy streets of London. He missed the smell of constant rain mixed with the sweet scent of scones and Earl Grey tea. He missed the constant appearances of bright scarlet phone booths on almost every block. He sighed and leaned back to bang his head against the backrest of the wooden bench.

In an attempt to distract himself from somewhat depressing thoughts, his mind shifted to think about the next three years of his life. But when he thought of the future all he thought of was him going through a complete hell. Arthur shivered and opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them in the first place.

He forced himself to stop thinking of future misery and stared straight ahead at the paper-covered wall across the room. There was a series of posters and advertisements that littered the thick wall like a second layer of wallpaper. He focused on them to clear his mind.

Arthur was in the middle of reading a poster on bullying when the door to the office swung open, the hot air from the hallways blowing in and the cool air from the air conditioned office zooming out. The wooden door banged loudly against the glass window next to the entrance and caused the woman from the desk to look up and glare at the intruders.

In the doorway stood a scrawny boy with messy brown hair. He looked as if he was out of breath based on the labored pants ripping from his throat. But that's not who Arthur really cared about, he was only concerned with the other boy with him.

The other boy was quiet and timid looking, constantly glancing over his shoulder in paranoia of someone or something coming up behind him. He had wheat-colored hair that reminded Arthur of sun flower fields. It was a nice color that suited him and was styled in a nice, neat way with only a cowlick as a defect, much unlike Arthur's messy bed head that only got brushed by him combing a hand through it. He had tan skin, but not the exaggerated ugly tan, the nice type of tan skin, and his body seemed to have a muscle tone to it despite the slight chubbiness.

But the feature that stood out the most to the Brit sitting impatiently on the hard wooden bench was the boy's eyes. They were a beautiful bright blue with a darker ring surrounding them.

The boy, in simple terms, was the most beautiful and handsome person Arthur had ever seen. He sucked in a breath as the scrawny boy spoke.

"Mrs. Mellow, I got someone to be the new student's guide for the next week." The woman at the desk beamed and stood from her comfortable swirly chair.

"Excellent, Tommy," She stated happily as she scooted around the front desk and stood before Arthur, holding out a hand for him to take. The Brit merely glanced at it before standing up on his own. The woman frowned and gave a slight glare before smiling again and gesturing to the silent blonde boy.

"This is Alfred Jones; he will be your school guide for the next week." Arthur heard the boy mumble something about an F being put between his first and last name. "He will pick you up five minutes before each period ends and walk you to your next class, any questions?" He shook his head, too busy staring at Alfred, who was staring at the floor as if it held the key to world peace.

The receptionist gave a determined nod before glancing up at the clock over the door.

"This period ends in five minutes," She turned to Alfred.

"Alfred," Said boy jumped and quickly looked up. "Why don't you show the new student to his next class?" Alfred nodded timidly before looking at Arthur and gesturing for him to follow as he made his way out into the hallway. Tommy moved out of the way as the pair strolled by, the door swinging closed behind them.

Arthur stopped suddenly and held out a hand nervously, as if he was afraid that the boy before him would judge him poorly (which he _was _indeed afraid of.) He was ready to introduce himself before an all-American voice cut him off.

"There's an F between Alfred and Jones."

**OKKAYYYY! I have absolutely NO idea why I started another story when I still haven't finished my other ones but who cares! Now my pretty children, reviews are food and I'm starving, FEED ME!**

**(I own nothing, in case you guys were wondering if I made up an amazing anime like Hetalia and made thousands of dollars a year for its production.)**


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